


Bleeding love

by War_Disnei



Series: Obitine [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Injury, Clone Wars, Denial of Feelings, Desire, Episode: s02e12 The Mandalore Plot, F/M, Falling In Love, Fantasizing, Flashbacks, Hiding in Plain Sight, Injury Recovery, Jealousy, Love, Love Confessions, Major Character Injury, Mandalore, Obitine, Platonic Sex, Post-Kadavo, Self-Harm, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/War_Disnei/pseuds/War_Disnei
Summary: Kenobi is bleeding - both literally and figuratively. He is nearing the end of his rope. There is someone who might help him, though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year with Obitine!

The electro-whip lashed once again, the mixed sound product of a hiss and the thump of breaking human flesh resonating against the humid stone walls.

The tied man groaned. He'd been unusually quiet for someone who had to go through such an ordeal. But then again, he was no normal sentient.

"Tell me, Jedi Scum" the Zygerrian slaver incited, slashing his victim once more.

The auburn man resisted, gritting his teeth, the flavor of blood pervading his mouth, the stench of the decomposing corpses of the togruta he was unable to save assaulting his nostrils. He had to resist. He had to.

"Tell me...how did the togruta dying make you feel?" the Zygerrian sneered, in an endless-nightmare-kind-of-sneer fashion.

 Obi-Wan finally cracked. A neverending yell erupted from his throat. A yell the Zygerrians fed their perverted excitement with.

There was no light in a place like this. There was no peace. No hope.

 

* * *

 

  _Mandalore, one year earlier_

 

On the eve of the Duchess' departure for Coruscant, after discovering Vizsla's treason, Tal Merrik was nervously filing his nails inside his chambers. From where he was, he had a good view of the terraced corridor one level below, a place where the Duchess habitually strolled.

Merrik wasn't one to show his emotions often: he much preferred a misleading façade of giggly provocatory flattery than revealing his true colors, but, by now, if there was something he struggled to hide - even in public - was his loathe for the very same woman he had so fervently desired.

Yes. That was exact. Tal Merrik despised _Satine Kryze_. He hated her. She had led him to the brink of that abyss. With all the times she had stubbornly turned him down, what choice had he left?

She hadn't even deemed him worthy of _one single chance_.

Always fleeting, always impenetrable, the Duchess had taken his work for what it was: a mediocre display of substitutable abilities. She had deflated his ego, "mutilated" his manhood, belittled him with as little as a gaze. To her, he barely existed.

And Merrik couldn't stand that.

Frigid as they'd described her, Merrik was even more irked by how beautiful and graceful and compelling she remained, regardless.

Was she afraid of letting herself go, with all she'd been through?

For a while, Merrik had believed that. As absurd as it appeared - with her emanating such a lively flame and all - perhaps she had intimacy, relationship or attachment issues. It was always a possibility. One that made Merrik feel the slightest bit regretful about what he had promised Vizsla. About his impending betrayal.

But then he'd seen _the way she looked_ at that Jedi. As contained as she might've still acted, Merrik had never seen her look at anyone that way. And that was saying something, since observing the Duchess was what he occupied most of his time with. She was his obsession.

And then that Kenobi came, with his entitled arrogance.

Who did he believe he was, he - a sworn enemy of Mandalorians - showing up and messing things up like that?

Obviously, Kryze couldn't be trusted with leading Mandalore. To him, this Kenobi reception was the ultimate proof that the New Mandalorians were a farce, straying farther and farther away from their people's best interests.

The sound of footsteps one level below put an end to Merrik's dark train of thought.

The Duchess was there, sounding and looking flustered. Kenobi was with her. They kept their distance, but, to Merrik, their body-language was unmistakable. Their chemistry overwhelmingly palpable.

Merrik felt like he could vomit any moment.

Every sigh, every batted eyelash, every gesture she addressed the bearded enemy was too much to take in.

Merrik had secretly hoped Vizsla would spare the Duchess' life for his own use and abuse, after her abduction. But now, all he could think about was...her...blood. If he couldn't have her, then nobody else would.

Certainly not _Kenobi_.

Silently, Merrik comm-linked Vizsla.

"I confirm tomorrow's plans", the reflection of the Duchess tinging his irises red.

 

* * *

 

_Taris, two days after Kadavo_

 

Satine was presiding over a Neutral Systems Council emergency meeting - one of many, as of late - on Senator Kin Robb's planet.

Robb was worried the Separatists were attempting to taint their Kelp farms (the planet's primary source of subsistence) with a virulent algae disease, just to blackmail the numerous and largely disadvantaged non-human farmers into joining their side.

Satine had little in her head other than help envisaging a solution for the problem at hand. She was investing renewed energy in that and, truth be told, even enjoying herself a little in the process. That's the kind of fun you can expect to have if you're a leader during wartime. She had become a natural at leading action, and this whole trip felt a bit like a heroic, exotic adventure one could have before plunging back head first into Mandalore's _many problems_ , from which there was no stepping back.

She definitely wasn't expecting it when a Republic ship touched down right in the middle of the "after dinner extraordinary meeting", and she was expecting it even less when she saw none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi crossing the opened door and making his knightly entrance into the large meeting chamber.

"Please, accept my apologies on behalf of the Galactic Republic for the delay. I have come to represent the Republic's military", he had introduced himself, fleetingly locking eyes with the Duchess. Just a quick look. Nothing more. Kenobi held his chin high, but kept his gaze low.

Satine's stupor and slightly provocative skepticism were quick to subside, when she started noticing _things_.

Stars were glistening brightly in the dark of the night, behind the high window panes, but Obi-Wan's eyes weren't.

He was upright, accompanied by the usual regal yet humble air he had about him, but there was something _off_ about the exaggerated way he had clasped his hands together, the skin surrounding his fingers red and flaring from the tightness of his grip.

He was quick to answer if consulted, but that was it: gone were the wit and sharp insights that could usually be expected of him.

The moment Senator Robb dismissed the meeting - around midnight - Satine was astounded to see him turn and leave, disappearing into the shadows, without an additional word. By then, she knew that he was hiding something, in the very least.

Instead of returning to her own quarters, Satine made a detour, following her instincts and an inkling she had: she headed outside, to the corridor of tropical, imported plants connecting the venue they were staying at with the outside Plaza.

 

* * *

 

_Republic Army Star Destroyer, a few hours earlier_

 

"Master" young Skywalker started, talking straight to the stubborn man who was redressing in front of him, inside the Medical bay. A droid had just tended to his wounds.

"You shouldn't be leaving this early" Anakin reprimanded, sounding much like the concerned slave child he used to be, ignoring the fact that he was largely being deliberatedly ignored. Obi-Wan had barely spoken, since they'd left Kadavo. To an outsider, he would appear normal, if a bit off, his sarcasm seemingly untouched. But not to Anakin. This sham Obi-Wan was enacting didn't fool him. On the other hand, it enervated him. Still, he hadn't - perhaps because he was refusing to - realized the full extent of the damage the older Jedi had suffered.

Hours went by. Clones and bureaucracy prevented Anakin from keeping a watchful eye on his master at all times.

All of a sudden, he couldn't sense him anywhere.

"Where is Obi-Wan?" Anakin half spat, half roared, to no one in particular.

"He's left for Taris. He volunteered to represent the Republic militarily and diplomatically at the CNS summit, there" Cody replied.

Anakin clenched both fists, a mix of rage - at having lost control of things - and angst - at facing the unknown, and a slight feeling of abandonment - taking hold of him.

"Why Obi-Wan, why?"

 

* * *

 

_Taris, two days after Kadavo_

 

Unsurprisingly, Kenobi was "hiding" right where she had expected him to be, contemplating the plants, standing with his arms crossed, looking dull and conflicted. However, it didn't matter how self-absorbed he seemed, he noticed Satine right away, turning to divert his sad, misty eyes away from her. His facial expression betrayed nothing.

Satine was as far from being fooled as Palpatine was from being a humane leader, but she restrained herself nonetheless, realizing that she ought to use tact, if she didn't want Kenobi to clam up. Repressing a groan and momentarily casting her worries aside, she found herself smiling, immensely glad and joyous at having found him again. It was incredible what his presence - a rare privilege - did to her. She always felt lighter after spending time - no matter how little, no matter if it wasn't one on one - with _him_.

"You came unannounced" she spoke pompously using her usual uptight mannerisms to provoke him.

Kenobi's reply took longer than usual to arrive, and not before - Satine was sure of that - pain fleetingly took hold of his beautiful features.

"I am happy to see you as well, Your Highness" he taunted her tiredly.

"Ever the gentleman"

"Ever the welcoming magnanimous"

"Beware: I never said the privilege of being you would be irrevocable"

"Oh, believe me Duchess, I would be highly disappointed if it were" he responded, the hint of a flame of liveliness sparkling in his eye.

Right when he seemed back to his old self, Satine saw him attempt concealing a pained grimace by bending his torso, getting the confirmation she was looking for.

"Have these past days been harsh, at the front?" she was unable to restrain herself.

"We're at war, Duchess. It is always harsh, but I am sure Your Highness is well aware of that"

He looked so listless, and _hopeless_ , that Satine found herself gaping despite herself.

Yearning closeness, she delicately clasped her fingers around his forearm, a motion she'd repeatedly done in the past. However, this time Kenobi visibly flinched, involuntarily retracting his arm. Satine's eyes darted to the fabric of his sleeve, noticing a faint - yet visible - red mark.

His face darkened, and Satine thought she could read something as extreme as self-loathing on it.

If she were to follow her wishes, she would've held him tightly until all the ice coating his heart reverted to flesh, but by then, she knew better than that.

Having spent time with the Jedi meant her subtlety radar had sharpened quite a lot, so this otherwise minor detail, alongside all the other oddities that Obi-Wan had put on that evening, wasn't lost on her. After all, a large chunk of all the meaningful interactions she shared with her Jedi confidant went unspoken.

Obi-Wan, of course, tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, failing miserably at it when, moments later, another wave of pain made his knees buckle, forcing him to sit on the ground. Panting, and feeling exposed in a way he was no longer used to, he wished he were alone, so as to spend a painful night by himself, sprawled on the floor of that lush open-sky corridor, in a desperate attempt to obtain the catharsis he needed.

Seeing him like that, in a moment of sheer vulnerability, Satine unhesitatingly knelt next to him, letting his arm slide across her shoulders and supporting his weight as they slowly stood up. She realized for the first time how unstable Obi-Wan was on his own two feet.

Predictably, he tried to resist her, panic written across his face.

"Let's go...no, I don't care what happened. If you want to spend the night outside, then I will, too" Satine decidedly affirmed.

 "What...no!"

"Then _come with me_ "

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A white, shared bed and a restless night bring about an unusual elaboration of the "post-Kadavo" sentiments.

_The Duchess' bedchamber, Taris_

 

Obi-Wan moaned in pain, shedding every ounce of reluctance he still retained with each layer of fabric the Duchess peeled from his ravaged body.

They were alone now.

She had wanted this to happen.

There was no point resisting her.

Besides, he was physically – and, even more so, mentally – drained. Exhausted. Battered. His defenses on their last legs. And somewhere, deep inside, he even _wanted_ her – the woman who had reaffirmed her rightful place as his confidante – to see. As selfish and unreasonable and un-Jedi-like as it seemed. But Obi-Wan was inclined not to give too much weight to this. Not after what had happened on Kadavo. Not with the inner turmoil he was experiencing (that was wrecking his beliefs and the foundations his life was built upon) and utterly failing to put a lid on. A first for him.

What was even more unthinkable – he was experiencing little, if any, guilt. A reaction he hadn’t foreseen, yet one that carried its own depth. It wasn’t for lack of involvement that he was feeling that way. On the contrary.

This time, the post-defeat scenario was different from anything he'd lived before, from the mental processing to his horizontal position, and fate could choose from so many directions to take from there. It was up to him to decide which one. Or maybe, up to the night.

Satine was shocked, but kept it mostly to herself, and quite pointlessly at that. It wasn't like he couldn't sense her.

When the man’s upper body was fully unclothed, Satine had to take a step back and inhale deeply not to be taken off-guard by a wave of nausea. The nostril-unsettling smell combination of blood, dead tissue, dried bacta, old gauze and pus was overwhelming, accompanying the grotesque sight of the utter mess of half-healed whiplash gashes that Obi-Wan’s torso had become. Here they were, the visible marks of the war the Jedi were partaking in, right in front of her.

It was obvious to her that Obi-Wan hadn’t been thorough, nor punctual, in his follow-up care of the wounds on his back, which had received some form of first-aid, as could be inferred from the dry remnants of “old” medication.

But if something disconcerted and disturbed her beyond any level of comprehension, it was the dire state his arms were in. His forearms especially. Countless untreated, infected cuts of varying depth dotted his skin as a sort of pain-generating power station. Satine could see no explanation to that other than the hypothesis that Obi-Wan was deliberately keeping them that way. A thin line formed between her brows.

As she got rid of his pants, a similar scenario involving his thighs welcomed her.

Questions burned her tongue. Was he seeking atonement through extreme self-chastisement? She had never seen him allow personal desperation to bring him to the edge of such lowly dark places. To drive him to that point, something truly terrible and huge must’ve happened. She ached to dig deeper. She ached to stop him from being his own undoing, but any word of wisdom she could think of died in her throat. She was seeing, but she didn't truly know. Satine chose not to push things, for the time being.

The fact that Obi-Wan was naked, fully visible for her to take in, was proof that he was willingly opening up to her. In fact, he was the most open he’d ever been with her, in _every_ _sense_. Words would be redundant, at that point.

Satine was no nurse. She could barely even apply a band-aid without sticking it to her fingers. During their year on the run together, Obi-Wan had been the one to patch her up when needed, after being ambushed or following a particularly rough escape. Yet, now, she realized she’d have to be resourceful and enact what the elders on Kalevala taught children about the skillful art of healing. Calling for medical reinforcements there, on Taris, was out of the question, seeing how private the matter needed to remain.

Mostly, she felt he wished for her to be there, with him, while ugliness was revealed. There was no way this could be achieved if she relegated his care to a team of droids, who would whisk him off to a sterile, personnel-only environment in a heartbeat. Sure, if he didn’t improve overnight, the plan would change, and she would pass the baton to qualified professionals without thinking twice. But now, she thought he deserved a chance to “be heard”. Like he had heard and supported her countless times during the past year. Be it from a distance through Holo-chat, squeezing in a few hours between one galactic mission and another, undercover, with no permission to land…you name it. She could always count on him being there. Always with a smile on his tired face at that.

After awkwardly slathering Kenobi’s back with a tub of bacta she’d found in the refresher – a bit less gracefully than intended to – and covering it with patches of clean bandage – she noticed he was trembling – though if it was from the cold, or from strong emotions, it was hard to tell – so she decided to move him from the lounger where he was positioned, to her bed.

He didn’t oppose any resistance when she nudged him to stand up, a demonstration that, by then, his defensive wards were completely down.

She helped him lie on the white mattress, against which he collided with a pained huff, his back muscles too sore to be responsive.

Satine sat next to him, observing his moonlit figure. The only piece of clothing that kept him from being totally nude was his underwear, stained with spilt pus and blood itself.

Feeling inspired by that night’s lingering frankness, before inhibitory self-restraint could kick-in, Satine extended her arms, grabbing his boxer briefs and sliding them down his firm legs. Her mouth involuntarily parted slightly when, as a response, Obi-Wan raised his butt to help her in the process of his undressing, conveying presence of mind and certitude of intention.

And, in a moment, all there remained was flesh.

Satine’s state of mind twirled violently, going from high and pure to uniquely carnal before settling halfway, in a balance she never knew she needed so much.

Obi-Wan kept still. His eyes closed, he was perfectly aware that she could see him for all he was. He was broken, but whole. There was a strange, captivating, cosmic harmony to it all.

As much as she’d rather stay and admire him in the state she had always desired to see him in, but had long given up on – _as bare as the day he was born, inside her bed_ \- Satine realized it wouldn't be tasteful, nor exceedingly wise, to just stare at him, especially when the cuts on his arms and thighs exuded pus and blood, causing him the very discomfort she was hoping she could help alleviate.

She stood and walked to the refresher to get disinfectant and the rest of the first aid kit.

Upon her return, she decided she'd had enough of wearing heavy ceremonial robes for the day, and with Obi-Wan lying bare and vulnerable on her bed, she had no intention of creating such an "asymmetric gap" between them. She had no reason to be overly guarded now, allowing her true self to transpire would not be dangerous in that moment, with that man.

So Satine got undressed, in the semi-darkness of the room. Totally undressed. Having done that, she selected a long, light, flowing nightgown (reminiscent of a moon ray) from her suitcase, putting it on in a swift motion that reminded of the way jellyfish swim. And she slipped in bed, next to the Jedi knight.

For her, it was momentous. Never in her life had she allowed herself to yearn such a totalizing degree of intimacy with a man. She had slept with a select few, namely loyal guards, throughout the years. But never did they spur sentiments of sweet abandon - or anything greater than that, for the matter - within her.

Enraptured, she lowered herself at his level, looking at him with intense desire. His eyes fluttered opened, as he looked back at her, not exactly timidly. She could've withdrawn, but she didn't. She kept looking into his eyes, feeling no shame.

If she were to follow her wildest, lusty desires she would have straddled him and made love to him until the end of times, with the promise of a mind-blowing mental connection tying one another in the sweetest of embraces.

But the time wasn't right.

They had established their intimacy for other reasons. Instantly, she shifted her attention to his arms, and began cleansing them.

The disinfectant stung, but Obi-Wan did his best not to let any sound escape his mouth, mostly succeeding at it, with the exception of a subdued grunt or two. He didn't want to grant himself the easy relief pained groans would have provided.

"There's no reason keeping these wounds of yours open" Satine whispered decidedly.

"Only through pain, can we hope for healing" Obi-Wan's voice was almost unperceptible.

"Exactly. You said it yourself. You're going through enough pain as it is to heal them. They were something you didn't ask for. But you got them, and you can choose either one of two different brands of pain to manage them. The former kind, the one that results from leaving them untreated, leads you to acknowledging the depths of the dark pit we've fallen into, but offers little in terms of catharsis, or spiritual gain. On the other hand the latter, the one you get from facing the healing process, _frees_ you"

"Freedom...you know it's just an illusion. So is peace" Obi-Wan snorted bitterly, thinking of the togruta, of the Zygerrians, of the Jedi and of war in close succession.

Satine grimaced while applying a healing balm on his forearm. To hear _him_ refer to _peace_ in such acrimonious terms was very telling with regards to the gravity of the situation he'd just survived.

"Perhaps you're searching it in the wrong place. You're picturing something that simply isn't. At least not fully. Your heart isn't in the wrong place, but the _path_ is never like we imagined it to be"

She felt Obi-Wan distend considerably under her loving touch. She relaxed as well. By taking care of the wounds he had so disregarded, she was expressing her desire to see him bounce back (whatever bouncing back meant). They were warriors, each fighting their own battles. That didn't mean they couldn't relate to one another and polish each other's weapons, from time to time.

Obi-Wan sucked in air, turning his head slightly in her direction. For some reason, his eyes were burning, and felt watery. The only relief he could find was the soft glow her skin emanated, so he concentrated on that. But soon, he found he couldn't help his gaze traveling elsewhere. To the dreamily moundy curve of her hip, for example. Was he being vain? He didn't care about the answer, in that moment.

Satine shifted her weight slightly to tackle his other arm. The fabric of her pearly-white nightgown was transparent; perky, taut nipples protruded, as if asking for help to be freed. Hormones floated in the air, intoxicating them and compounding the already-surreal experience into an unprecedented reality for the two of them.

Obi-Wan's heart pounded intensely, and he feared she would notice all his blood rushing from the arms she was tending to, to his manhood. But she didn't seem to realize. Or, most likely she did, but decided not to act on her feelings, for the moment.

Minutes turned into hours, making it unavoidable for Obi-Wan to resist Morpheus' embrace. Once she finished patching him up, Satine stopped to look at her Jedi.

There he was, tormented but assuaged. Scarred but handsome. Only partially aware of how tempting he was. Satine took him all in, while she could. While he was still offering himself to her so blatantly, so deeply. The line of his neck, the curve of his jaw culminating in his earlobe, his pink lips, peeking out from wisps of auburn hair. She drank in every detail.

“Ben”

His eyes were closed. Likely, he was unconscious.

Satine bent forward and kissed those lips, knowing that somewhere, in his dreams, he would _know_.

He was more awake, and aware, than she imagined, but kept still nonetheless, savoring the moment, pressing his lips against hers almost imperceptibly. He knew she would notice.

Such was their rebellion. Subtle and fluttery, like butterfly wings. But even cantering horses can sound like insect wings, in the distance.

A few hours later, just before sunrise, Satine left for the day’s meetings. Obi-Wan woke up shortly thereafter under the soft duvet, feeling restored, ready to board the Republic ship that awaited him.

Later, he would look back at that night he'd shared with the Duchess with fondness, unsure where to draw the line between dream and reality.


End file.
